


Fire

by Kiea, yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Anthropomorphic, Art, Established Relationship, Fanart, Ficlet, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, PWP, Smauglock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1270819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiea/pseuds/Kiea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment of Smaug’s heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Yeaka’s A/N: The "drabble" is for “bilbo is completely overwhelmed (usually from being made to cum like 5-6 times which is unrealistic but who cares it's dragon/hobbit sex it's not realistic in the first place) and crying and just being a little helpless mewling mess as Smaug fucks him over and over and over” prompt request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) by ghostfucks, and also for [kiea233](http://kiea233.tumblr.com/)’s gorgoues artwork!
> 
> Disclaimer: We don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and we’re not making any money off this.

  
[](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/78613324183/kiea233-smaugbo-sketch-smaug-you-r-too-big)  
Art by [Kiea](http://kiea233.tumblr.com/)  


At first, it’s a slow crawl to consciousness. He’s still half-dreaming, thinks he might be up in the sky, towering through the clouds above the misty mountain. He’s clutching hard to the spindles of Smaug’s neck, watching the wind come in but not quite feeling it against his skin. He hears the familiar rattling of coins and shifts his head, feels the way the gold is muffled through his old, discarded clothes. Why does he even still have those? There’s no need for such trivialities here.

Then he realizes that it’s not Smaug’s warm body vibrating and bucking beneath him. He isn’t riding Smaug through the open air. He groans and half-yawns, eyes blurring and prickly, like they’ve been glued shut. There’s a dull thrumming in his body, starting between his legs and reaching all the way up to his neck, forcing a shudder up his spine. He’s being rocked up and down, no, not rocked, _slammed_ , and he focuses on that, but oh, it sort of hurts, tingles—magic? He knows what magic feels like by now. Magic masking pain. He’s being pounded into the plush, thin layer of his old jacket and the mounds of gold beneath. 

His eyes flutter open, thick with crusted tears, and his mouth opens wide. He gasps, chokes on his own shock and noises, arches his back up. His head falls back and he moans, “ _Ohhh_...” He’s being fucked. Hard. _Still_.

It all comes broiling back to him, skidding between the current dizziness, the fullness in his ass and the pressure on his stomach—he’s being stabbed into with Smaug’s beast of a cock, over and over. Even in his man-like form, Smaug is a monster, covering Bilbo in shadow and sporting a long, luxurious tail and ruby-red horns. His golden eyes sparkle down at Bilbo’s face, and Bilbo wants to speak but can’t—he’s fucked too hard to think enough for it. How is this still happening. 

“Good morning, darling,” Smaug purrs, and it wasn’t nighttime when Bilbo fell asleep, no, fell unconscious, at least, he doesn’t think so. How long was he out? His body’s sore, so sore, but even as he thinks it, Smaug’s magic trickles down his veins and soothes all the pain, lets him hone in instead on the sensations in his ass. His little hole is stretched around Smaug’s massive cock; even with Smaug’s form so reduced, he’s far too big for Bilbo’s tiny body. It never stops them. Smaug stretches him and stretches him and douses him with magic to dull the pain, lets him drown in just the overwhelming feeling of housing such a powerful cock. It belongs in him, anyway, whatever their sizes. He knows that. But it’s been _forever_ , and he’s going to be fucked right to death...

One of Smaug’s claws shifts from the treasure below and traces up Bilbo’s side, slipping down into Bilbo’s bellybutton and out towards his cock—Bilbo makes a choked noise. He finds it so hard to find the wherewithal to talk, and his throat’s so hoarse from screaming and moaning and whimpering, but he manages to groan, “N-no... No, Smaug... I’ve already... c-come half a dozen times...”

“And I’ve come a dozen,” Smaug chuckles. His silky voice is a new wave of pleasure: sheer sex. So seductive. Bilbo would give him the world. But Bilbo doesn’t have any more to give right now—he’s nearly unconscious again. His body’s weak from being tossed into as many positions, held and fucked, and propped up and fucked, and pinned down and fucked, and fucked more. He can still feel the crusted tears on his cheeks from before he blacked out. It wasn’t pain he was crying from, just the... he can’t even explain it. It’s _so_ overwhelming. He’s probably going to cry again.

He wants to lift a hand to cover his mouth, but instead all he manages to do is whine brokenly, “ _Smaaauug_...”

Smaug makes a keening sound, clearly delighted: his hips are going wild. He drives into Bilbo at a relentless pace, merciless in force, and he lets his fingers wrap around Bilbo’s quivering cock, far too spent to get hard on its own. Smaug strokes it anyway, the magic in his fingers. Bilbo’s so covered with cum that he can’t tell whose is whose. “I warned you about my heats,” Smaug hisses, and his eyes flare—he did, but Bilbo didn’t, couldn’t know... “You said you loved me, and that you would take me. I warned you it would be difficult, but, my brave little adventurer, my precious gem, my dear treasure... you are my mate...” He punctuates each breath between with a hard thrust that bucks Bilbo a few centimeters into the air. Bilbo can hardly take it. 

Bilbo can barely take in the low candlelight. He’s burning up, so fiery hot that he’s constantly in the midst of a fever, but it doesn’t matter, the heady stench of sex and the taste of Smaug’s dried seed on his tongue is all overrun by the _feeling_ of being plundered by Smaug’s huge, gorgeous cock. The sound of slapping skin on skin and scales and slipping coins echoes through the cavernous walls. No amount of magic can stop him from feeling completely raw. His cock is just as sore, but that doesn’t stop Smaug. Smaug pumps him none too gently, just in time with the thrusts, and Bilbo’s mind starts to short circuit all over again. He tries to warn Smaug, but he can’t—he can barely move. He’s only vaguely aware that he’s making little mewling noises, shuddering helplessly in them midst of an avalanche of pleasure. Even if Smaug did stop now, would Bilbo be able to handle it? He’s not sure his body could manage _not_ being fucked. He’d probably still shake and buck at the air and moan. He’s a mess. Hardly even a person. He’s a dragon’s mate. 

Somehow, he still manages to come. He bursts in Smaug’s hand pathetically quickly—his seventh time? And he tosses his head back while Smaug lets go, hand shooting to pin down Bilbo’s wrists. Bilbo’s held in place as he writhes and begs and sobs—he’s crying all over again—he’s coming so hard that a sticky white glob hits his chin, the rest sopping over his stomach. He doesn’t have much in him. He’s going to go blind from the bliss—he’s seeing white. He’s going to go insane. 

And then it’s over. He’s breathing so hard he thinks his heart might burst out of his chest. His mind wants to come down, but it can’t; it’s not really over at all. Smaug’s still stabbing into him over and over and now leaning down to lick and kiss his sweat and tear and cum-stained face. Bilbo might be moaning, but he’s too dizzy to tell. He’s lightheaded and just a sliver away from passing out. 

He gasps again when it changes, when Smaug presses harder into him than ever and bursts, filling him up with a rush of hot seed. The new load mingles with all the others and bubbles up to squeeze out around Smaug’s cock, rush down their thighs and pool into the puddle beneath Bilbo’s ass, slick and sticky and startlingly warm. Bilbo’s head is tossing uselessly from side to side— _this_ is what it means to be fucked stupid. 

Smaug hisses when he pulls out. He _pulls out._ At first, Bilbo can barely understand it, and then he’s left abruptly and horribly empty, gaping hole twitching as a dozen loads of dragon cum start to spill out of him. His thighs are trembling, and it really is hard for him to cope—he’s been fucked too long; now he can’t adjust. One of Smaug’s claws fondly brushes back a sweat-matted chunk of his hair off his forehead, and Bilbo whimpers mindlessly, leaning into the touch. 

It seems to take him forever to gasp, “Is... is it... o-over?”

Smaug’s sigh is a little pitying. Bilbo winces; he knows the answer. Smaug presses a tender kiss to his cheek and murmurs, “It will be days, little one. But as much as I love your cute bottom, I can’t put it under such strain forever.”

Bilbo looks up at him, squinting through the post-coital haze to understand. Smaug grins softly and asks him, “Will you let me have your pretty mouth?”

Bilbo’s panting. He needs his mouth to breathe—his nose won’t cut it—not like this, but he looks at Smaug’s shimmering eyes and finds it hard to deny his lover _anything_. He can’t fit Smaug’s cock in his throat. They know that. But the head of it can fill Bilbo’s mouth, stretching it so wide his jaw is always just short of unhinging. His ass spasms suddenly, and Bilbo knows he needs a break—magic or no, he’ll never manage. 

He nods weakly, and Smaug purrs, “You are so good to me, my Bilbo...” Bilbo can’t nod again, but he knows that Smaug would do _anything_ for him. 

He parts his lips as wide as he can, head lolling to the side and into Smaug’s palm. Through all of the numbness and soreness and musky smell of sex, Bilbo does feel loved. He knows he’s loved. 

He pays it back to Smaug in spades, dragon-rider his new proudest title.


End file.
